


Intervention of the Misfire Kind

by WizardSandwich



Series: Primus Blessed (aka fulcrum/rung pieces) [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, bullshitting the canon timeline tbh, i can't write any tf character send tweet, it's late so this might be Bad, misfire is an embarrassing friend that you can't bring anywhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 17:35:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20800316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WizardSandwich/pseuds/WizardSandwich
Summary: Fulcrum is cute, that much Rung will admit.





	Intervention of the Misfire Kind

**Author's Note:**

> this is a shitty fic but if you want to find me anywhere else i'm @tasteful-robot-loving on tumblr.

Fulcrum is cute. Especially when he laughs and tilts his helm back. Or when he bites his lips when he’s deep in thought. He’s _adorable _when he looks at Rung with those _gold, gold optics that shine like a supernova in the dark and Rung has never been a poet but—_

“Rung.” Megatron clears his throat loudly. It pulls Rung from whatever odd staring contest he’s having with Fulcrum who sits over three tables away. “Are you too distracted to play?”

Megatron’s tone is telling. He knows exactly what, or rather who, Rung is thinking of. His optics glitter with amusement. “I’m sorry, captain,” Rung says half-heartedly. His servo comes up to adjust the strap of his glasses.

Megatron nods then stands. He doesn’t look heartbroken over a lost game of cards. “Yes, well, I imagine Rodimus is stirring up trouble. I should go check on him and Minimus. Perhaps you should do something about your distraction.”

It’s not a subtle hint. The only way Megatron could be more clear is by saying Fulcrum’s designation. Still, Rung nods his acknowledgement, “Perhaps I should.”

It’s more a consideration than anything. No commitment worms it’s way into the statement. Rung, in all honesty, isn’t sure how to approach the Scavengers. Any of them. They were an odd bunch to say the very least.

But as soon as Megatron leaves the table, Misfire is trampling across the bar. Krok is hot on his heels. He’s muttering something about “stupid jets” in such a way that makes Rung think that this is not an uncommon occurrence.

“Misfire, can I help you?” Rung asks.

He hasn’t often spoken to Misfire, but his reputation precedes him. Rung knows to be at least somewhat wary of whatever Misfire wants.

“When are you going to stop optic-fragging Fulcrum from across the bar?” Misfire demands, tone loud and expression full of faux business.

It’s a startling question. One Rung isn't prepared for. He almost falls out of his seat in surprise. The whole bar stops to watch at Misfire’s declaration of a question.

“What.” Rung chokes out.

“You heard me.” Misfire’s serious expression morphs more into that of the cat who caught canary. He leans over the table, face yards away from Rung’s. Krok shakes his helm by his side, looking so very tired. “When are you going to ask him out?”

“I don’t believe that was your original question,” Rung states, scrambling for any sort of foothold in this conversation.

Misfire shrugs. It clearly doesn’t bother him to have the optics of the whole bar staring holes in his plating. For Rung, who has always been more of a background mech, it feels uncomfortable. It’s like he’s sitting with his spark exposed.

Rung’s optics dart to the side. Over Misfire’s shoulder he can see Fulcrum’s tired and distressed expression. It makes Rung’s spark twist in sympathy before he remembers that he’s the one pinned.

“I don’t think that is any of your business,” Rung huffs.

He looks down, away from Misfire’s smug expression, and begins to collect his playing cards. Misfire makes some noise of disappointment, “Come on! Here I thought asking you in public would get a straight answer!”

“Maybe you should think of more sound strategies in the future. Or stay out of other mech’s business,” Rung tells him.

He slips out of the booth and out of the bar without a glance around. He already knows what he will find: amusement, betting, disappointment. Anything of the sort. No one on the Lost Light bothers to hide anything unless it’s important.

When Rung gets hallways away from the bar, he realizes that he’s _embarrassed. _It’s a normal emotion, of course, but not one that Rung feels often. But Misfire had pulled that stunt in a crowded bar at the busiest time of day. Why would he have done that to Rung? To embarrass him in front of Fulcrum?

However, that doesn’t make sense. Misfire was a lot of things, but when it came to his amicas he usually had the best intentions. Unless it was for a prank, of course.

“Hey, Rung,” Fulcrum’s voice startles him out of his reverie. “I’m sorry about Misfire.”

Rung has to tilt his helm up to look at Fulcrum. His optics catch on the nice gold of Fulcrum’s. “Don’t apologize. It wasn’t your fault,” Rung says.

“It kind of was,” Fulcrum starts then stops. He looks contemplative for a moment before starting again, “I like you. A lot. And Misfire heard about it. So it is my fault that Misfire even thought about cornering you.”

_Oh. _“That’s good to know, Fulcrum.” Rung’s lips tug upward into a smile. Fulcrum still looks more than a bit apologetic and disgruntled. “Very good to know, actually.”

Fulcrum nods and shifts awkwardly. Rung makes a half a moment decision. His servo comes up to catch the back of Fulcrum’s neck. Fulcrum looks surprised for all of a moment. Then his mouth curves into a half-surprised, half-awkward smile. He opens his mouth to say something but Rung tugs him down to close the distance between them.

Fulcrum’s lips are softer than Rung would expect. The metal molds against his. He has to guess Fulcrum hasn’t been kissed much because his lips stay stiff against his. It’s fine. There will be many more kisses to come if Rung has anything to say about it.

He lets go of Fulcrum and pulls back with a sly grin, “It’s very good to know, Fulcrum.”

Fulcrum grins then nods, “I’m glad you think so.”

“Perhaps Misfire will be forgiven this once.”

“Maybe,” Fulcrum laughs, hesitantly catching Rung’s servo in his own.


End file.
